**Diary Entry**
When I turned fifteen, my parents decided they absolutely needed another child. They insisted a sibling was essential, and so my brother arrived. Everyone congratulated me, wishing me the best, but I felt no joy. Even now, I dont like dwelling on those days, but here I am, writing it all down.
Mum was thrilled to have a daughternot out of love, but because I was free childcare. Once my brother, Oliver, turned one, she stopped breastfeeding overnight and went back to work full-time. Grandma came round in the mornings, but by the time I got home from school, shed either be asleep or already gone. Oliver was left in my care. He cried constantly, and no matter what I did, I couldnt calm him.
I had no time for myself. Changing nappies, bathing him, preparing fresh mealsit never ended. If my parents came home to find unwashed dishes or wrinkled laundry, theyd shout at me, calling me lazy and ungrateful. Homework? That happened late at night, when exhaustion made it impossible to focus. My grades slippedteachers pitied me enough to give me Cs, but even that earned me scoldings.
*”The washing machine does the washing, the dishwasher does the cleaningwhat exactly do you do all day? Too busy daydreaming about boys?”* Dad would yell, while Mum just nodded along. As if shed forgotten what it was like to spend hours with a fussy toddler while trying to keep a house in order.
Sure, the washing machine *does* washbut someone still has to load it, hang the clothes, and iron yesterdays pile. The dishwasher? I wasnt allowed to run it during the daytoo expensive on the electricity. And baby bottles had to be scrubbed by hand. No one envied me scrubbing floors daily, either, especially with Oliver crawling and toddling everywhere.
Things eased slightly when he started nursery. My parents insisted I pick him up and feed him once I got home, but at least I had a few afternoon hours to myself. I worked harder in school, scraping by without Cs.
I dreamed of studying biologythe only subject that truly fascinated me. But my parents refused.
*”The universitys in central Londonyoud be commuting an hour and a half each way. When would you get back? Oliver needs collecting. Dont even think about it.”*
They wouldnt budge, so they chose for me. The closest place was a vocational college for catering, where I trained as a pastry chef. The first term passed in a blurdepressed, as people say now. But then, something shifted. I started loving it: baking cakes, whipping up biscuits, crafting desserts.
By the second year, I had a part-time jobweekends at a café near our flat. At first, my parents complained about me being away, but I fought for that time. After graduation, I went full-time.
Then, a new head chef joined the café. We started meeting late after shifts, and my parents erupted. Dad even turned up after work a few times, determined to stop me from walking with him. Eventually, they called a family meetingGrandma, Auntie, and her husband all crowded in.
They stood me in the middle of the room and told me to forget boyfriends, walks, or any fun at all.
*”Youre quitting the café,”* Auntie announced. *”Ive got you a job as a kitchen assistant at Olivers school.”*
*”Best news all day!”* Mum cheered. *”Oliver will always have someone there, and you can come straight home after. More time to help us.”*
Give up the caféwhere I was valued, paid, and happy? Where my boyfriend worked? I pictured my future: a grim school canteen, slimy sausages and congealed pasta bakes, evenings swallowed by chores, my life revolving around Oliver.
*”Until your brother finishes school, dont you dare think about lads,”* Dad said sternly.
The next day, I told my boyfriend everything. We made a plan. Hed been saving to open his own café, but it wasnt enoughwed need a bank loan or investors. At home, I said I had to work my two weeks notice. They agreed, thinking Id obey.
The loan fell through, but we found another way. A friend of his managed a high-end restaurant in Manchester and tipped him off about a new project. He went for an interview and convinced them to video-call me. As I spoke, he pulled out desserts Id madekept fresh in a cooler box.
On my last day, I left early. I slipped home while no one was there, stuffed my things into a bag, grabbed my documents and savings, and took the train to Manchester.
Now, Im living my own lifenot one forced on me, but one I choose.
Yes, I love Oliver, and I hope one day well have a proper relationship. I dont hate my parents, either. But I know if Id stayedin that flat, in that townId never have broken free. I wasnt strong enough to fight them. So I ran. And now, in this new city, Im stitching together a life where happiness isnt just a dream.
